Blood Curse
by alaricnomad
Summary: Based on the epic poem Beowulf. Grendel tells his true story and contemplates the monster within. ONESHOT.


**Blood Curse**

By Dan'yu

It is amazing how much the passing of time can bring about so many misgivings, misconceptions, and misunderstandings. My story had been passed down for longer than tens or hundreds of human generations. Those boastful, proud creatures, the way they brag their superiority to all other races in the mortal realm and beyond, you would think they could keep a simple story straight.

Sadly, that is not the case, for those foolish bumblers could not even find the brains to write it all down for a number of generations. Instead, they passed down the story by word of mouth, building up my legend with elaborate words and overly intricate weavings of verses that leave them beyond the understanding of the common mind.

A monstrosity they called me, the blight of mankind, the shepherd of evil, the enemy of the Almighty. At least with time these humans have become clever with their words, if nothing more.

Forgive me for my embittered thoughts, for I have had many centuries to wallow and drown in my own suffering without respite, inevitable that I grew hardened and bitter against my very nature. Allow me to tell my story now, the truest form of the tale to be told in a very long time.

My name is Grendel, and I am cursed far beyond the darkness that the humans have forever cast over my name. There is a horrible curse to my bloodline, descended straight from the murderer Cain. His crimes weight heavily in our blood, branding us, and we bear his punishment.

The evil in his heart had manifested through the generations in the most horrifying of ways, twisting our very nature to become nothing more than monsters, bringing about the onslaught of a terrible blood thirst that makes us little more than mindless beasts. Not all of us seek this, you much understand, in fact, and there are few of us that thrill in this curse. But it is impossible to escape, as inevitable as the sun's rising in the morning and its setting in the eve.

It is surely true, after all, that ultimately no beast, man, or animal, can deny his true nature forever. You see, I lived my childhood and younger years as a rather gentle creature, much to my mother's disgust. Despite that, I was quite happy that way, but as the years built on my youth, the changes began to occur. The monster inside began to awaken.

It started small, bursts of violent anger at inappropriate times, a lingering surly attitude so unlike my usual character. It grew quickly feelings of hatred, violence, and bloodlust battling so intensely inside me it was nearly impossible to control. It was truly a horrible experience, constantly fighting against the malevolent presence inside, never a moment's rest for fear of giving in.

It was no surprise that my light nature and hope quickly dwindled away, influenced by the darkness so far ingrained to me. Suddenly, one day, as abruptly as the change came, it vanished just as quickly. I was a fool then, giving the bizarre experience no second thought through my joy at being free from the torment.

The humans came not soon after, building their great hall above my home. My home underground, as much as they like to call it so many appalling names, was necessary because of my race's sensitivity to light. Of course, the humans knew nothing of this. A hell, they call it. Ignorance can lead to such things. So much noise those humans made, boisterous and rambunctious heathens. No decent creature could be allowed to sleep with all the racket they made. It did irritate me so.

When I awoke one morning to utter silence, I found it odd enough to rise from my bed. The acrid scent of blood filled my nostrils, and the crimson red stained across my claws filled me with a terror like nothing I had ever experienced. What had happened? What had I done?

Time passed, and filled with such shame and disgust I did not leave my home, hiding away from the truth, haunted by the heinous crimes my mind conceived. I heard the news of the soldiers' deaths, and I wept with fear and shame, fearing the monster sleep could bring.

Somehow, in my repression of the monstrous nature hidden in my blood, my fragile mind had lost the battle, creating a presence inside me beyond my control. I made my may to Herot, the human king's great hall, my mind set firmly in the resolve to seek repentance for my crimes. Waiting for me there was the man Beowulf. This Beowulf had no intention of offering mercy or an ear to listen. No, it was my death he sought from the moment he arrived on Danish shores.

The battle between us was desperate and rather one-sided, for my intention was not to harm him, but the moment he captured my claws, instinct and fear took hold, and I struggled to escape. There was no escape but for the loss of my arm. Oh, such an excruciating pain that caused, still haunting me to this day.

My supposed defeat brought celebration to the humans, they praised him for being so gallant, turning my story into nothing more than a melodrama. I, on the other hand, was condemned by my own people. It is a terrible, terrible sickness that caused them to lock me away, for I am a danger even to them.

This is my fate, damned to this prison, this horrible, dark, dank prison, for the rest of my days. The monster is sleeping now, oblivious to the suffering of its host. It sleeps and lies in wait, anticipating for the next time I lose control…


End file.
